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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230638">the call of the running tide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee'>simplecoffee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hunt for Red October (1990)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Getting Together, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:54:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's much to talk about; there's much to be silent about, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bart Mancuso/Marko Ramius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the call of the running tide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/gifts">enviropony</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan collapses very soon after the <em>Konovalov</em> is sunk. Marko doesn't quite catch him as he stumbles; the American captain is there at once to help. </p><p>Between them, they get him into a chair, direct his head between his knees as he starts to come round, and then Mancuso turns toward him, a gentle hand on his arm, the barest suggestion of a nudge toward the next chair along.</p><p>"Sir, you got a medic on board?" he says. "You need your shoulder seen to as well."</p><p>"Dr Petrov disembarked with the rest of the crew," Marko says. The unspoken lingers in the air: <em>he was uninvolved, and by that virtue, a risk to all our lives.</em> He isn't sure he would have trusted Petrov with a gunshot wound; certainly neither he nor anyone else could have helped Vasily. </p><p>"I'll send the <em>Mystic</em> over for our doc," Mancuso says, and Marko nods, finally allowing himself to take the seat beside Ryan.</p><p>-</p><p>There is a day's travel to the river. There is a week's rest in Maine. For a given value of rest; Marko's officers and the <em>Dallas'</em> alike are questioned before they are. </p><p>Ryan recovers well in the safehouse, and Marko begins to. The three of them spend the mornings reading and watching American television; they spend the evenings sitting together around the space heater or the dinner table, sharing tales of the past. Mancuso speaks warmly of the <em>Dallas</em>, of the courage and loyalty of his officers and crew, of the beauty of his boat and what she can achieve. When Ryan's retired for the night, he speaks more freely, quiet but true, an answer to Marko's own confidences; the weight of command, the honour of trust, the call of the sea.</p><p>The week after that, there is hardly time to breathe. Mr Pelt and Admiral Greer are far from the only people who have questions upon questions, quarrels upon quarrels among themselves. Mancuso grumbles lightly about it, but takes it well enough; he is used to his government, as officers are. Marko, for his part, cannot find it in himself to complain - healthy disagreement among those in power is refreshing, to say the least.</p><p>He especially cannot find it in himself to complain when, one late night in a CIA waiting lounge, Mancuso falls asleep resting lightly against his uninjured shoulder.</p><p>Somewhere to his other side, Ryan is drifting off, too. Even cowboys need their sleep, Marko thinks, and smiles to himself at his own joke.</p><p>-</p><p>"Sir," Mancuso says, when the debriefs are done and he has been permitted to rejoin his boat. He stands at attention to take Marko's leave - proper, and though not the bear hug that Ryan had given him, rather delightful nonetheless.</p><p>"Commander, I must insist you call me Marko."</p><p>He nods, a quick and graceful thing, a smile on his face that Marko can tell is there, though he suspects no one else in the room could. "Then you must call me Bart."</p><p>Marko says, "I hope we shall meet again, Bart."</p><p>-</p><p>They do meet again, at a naval get-together a few months later. The base commander has been kind enough to ask Marko along, and while he likes his new neighbours and his new identity fine, sometimes one misses the company of those in the know.</p><p>Marko thinks, when he sees him, that he'd missed the company of certain people in particular.</p><p>Bart cleans up nicely, as the Americans say. He's quiet and warm, as always; falls right into step beside Marko like they'd never parted, introducing him to a few admirals, mostly just staying close by his side. It's a while before they find time to sit down together; they sip their whiskey as the music dies down, but this time they don't trade tales.</p><p>"How's Maine been treating you, Marko?" Bart asks.</p><p>"Quite nicely, so far."</p><p>"You had Ryan over to fish yet?"</p><p>"Not yet," Marko says. "I think, quite soon, I might. But I thought perhaps that I would ask you, first."</p><p>Bart smiles, tips his glass, and looks over at the band wrapping up for the night. </p><p>"Captain," he says, "do you need a ride home? I think we've met enough folks here to be allowed to blow this joint."</p><p>"I have a car," Marko says. "So, Commander, the question is, do you want a nightcap?"</p><p>-</p><p>Bart wears a scarf in addition to his topcoat - a soft one, in a deep, rich blue. Marko, for his part, does not require one. Maine is bracing to him, no more.</p><p>They walk close together, when they walk to the car. It's a small, battered Mini; Marko thinks that soon, in homage to Vasily, he'll trade it in for a pickup truck. Bart walks him to the driver's door, gentleman-like, before moving round to the passenger side.</p><p>They're quiet, even now; especially now. After all the light and sound indoors, neither feels the need to talk.</p><p>There's no surprise to it, when they enter Marko's new home side by side, when he draws Bart gently closer. There's no surprise to it, no hesitation, when his arms encircle Marko's waist; and when Marko leans forward to touch their foreheads together, Bart is the one to close the distance, and kiss him.</p><p>It's soft, like his voice; intense, like the battles they've left behind. They know each other well, by now, in the way sea captains do; somehow, in other, better ways, there is still much to learn.</p><p>Marko thinks he'll show him around the place tomorrow morning. He thinks that for now, he'll reach to unknot the deep blue scarf from around his throat, and see where the evening goes.</p>
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